Above and under life, eternally,

A subtle light and dark run parallel.

One prompts men to build Beauty, cell by cell,

In Home, Religion, State, Society;

The other, to destroy the fair they see.

Like Spring, wilt thou roof Earth with bloom and dwell

Thereunder? or, with Scalping Winter's yell,

Scour grove and bush? Choose—how else art thou free?

If Freedom is the gift of the all-wise,

It is because he will not have a slave

To serve Him. Which wilt thou be, base or brave?

With Morn, climb, or, with Night, skulk down the skies

To grope in caverns, or beneath the wave,

Creep, till aghast at monsters that arise?